Game Changer
by Yeah.I'm.Awful
Summary: A little tale of how Jim discovered one consulting detective. T for language. Was a oneshot, but I'm working on continuing it!
1. Chapter 1

**Just a little oneshot, but maybe I'll continue it if it's enjoyed.**

**I don't own any of the magnificent characters from BBC's Sherlock. Or Sebastian.**

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"I'm bored." Jim twisted like an eel on the couch.

"That's nice, Boss."

Jim jumped up annoyed. "Sebastian," he growled, snatching away the sniper's newspaper. "I'm. Bored."

Sebastian grabbed the paper back from the smaller man and settled back into his armchair. "Yeah, I got that," he said, a little annoyed with Jim's childish behavior. "Have you tried shooting at the walls yet? That might be fun."

Jim threw his hands up in exasperation. "It's always shooting with you!" He gave a very exaggerated shudder that went completely unnoticed. "Guns are so callus."

"Mhmm," Sebastian agreed, not really listening to the obnoxious Irishman.

Jim sneered at the loss of attention and tore the newspaper out of Sebastian's hands again. This time, he tossed it onto the floor and planted his foot onto it. "Entertain me," Jim demanded.

Sebastain sighed and looked at the psychopathic toddler that was Jim Moriarty. "Do you want to switch on the police scanner? Scotland Yard can provide hours of amusement."

Jim's eyes narrowed and, for a second, Sebastian was sure he would refuse out of preference for being a total twat. After a moment of consideration, Jim tightened one side of his mouth. "Sure," he breathed. "I guess we could do that. I did have a heist going last night. It might be nice to check up on that."

Sebastian held back a sigh of relief. Jim fell backward onto the couch, a clear indication that it was Sebastian's job to fetch the scanner. It was with great reluctance that he left his comfy chair to find the radio. It was buried in a hall closet under a stack of clothing that Sebastian was almost positive did not belong to anyone still breathing. Sometimes, Jim liked trophies.

Sebastian walked back to the living area with the scanner feeling rather proud of his quick find. "Dammit, Jim!" he shouted, upon seeing whatever the fuck his boss was doing. "What the actual hell?"

In the middle of the room was a cube of cushions cannibalized from the room's couches. Sebastian's commandeered newspaper served as a makeshift flag on top of the cushy cave. At Sebastian's cry, one of the pillows on the top shifted just enough for dark eyes to peer out angrily. "I'm a king, Sebastian. This is my castle. Don't be stupid. And watch your language. It's fucking offensive."

Sebastian rolled his eyes. "So sorry, your majesty," Sebastian offered with a fair deal of sarcasm.

"That's much better," said the pillow fort, which had resumed impenetrability.

Sebastian stared dumbly at the dangerous psychopath in his imaginary castle. Why did he put up with this?

"Sebastian, I thought you were going to entertain me with incompetent investigations. Where are my detective stories?" The whine was muffled, but no less obnoxious. Sebastian had a sudden beautiful vision of choking Jim until the snarky criminal stopped bitching.

"Stop fantasizing about my death, Seb. I know how excited it gets you."

"How the fuck can you even see me right now?"

There was a pause. "Why don't I hear the inanity that is Scotland Yard? Don't make me come out there, Tiger. I am not a merciful king."

"I'm not even sure what I would say to that," Sebastian griped, tuning the scanner. It took only a moment to locate the investigation of the robbery. He could tell it was Jim's work by the sheer confusion in the voices of the on-scene personnel.

"That is my favorite sound in the whole world," Jim sighed happily from his protected space. "And I hardly even put any effort into this one. All I had to do was -"

The scanner's chatter was suddenly interrupted by a clear voice echoing through all channels. "Three men. One works in a garage, and lives nearby. The other two are professionals imported from Russia. Also, one of them was recently married in a Jewish ceremony, though I believe that was for his wife's benefit. Lestrade, you'll find a list of ten suspects and a complete inventory of stolen goods enclosed in an email. Now if you can stop being so completely oblivious for three seconds, I'm off to a family reunion. You know where to find me." After this monologue was completed, a silence took everyone.

Finally, a jealous-sounding woman's voice chimed through the radio. "Freak." This seemed to break whatever spell had just possessed the Yard and the conversation started up again.

As the crime scene came back to life, the pillow fort suddenly exploded apart. "Sebastian!" Jim cried, erupting from the upholstery. It was actually kind of endearing to see the impeccably-dressed man emerge from the pile of cushions, especially with the look plastered across Jim's face. It was a mixture of excitement and fury. "Who was that? How dare he? I like him. I want to meet him. How could he ruin my plans like this? Inconsiderate arse! We are going to best of enemies. I know it! Ooh, I love challenges! I hate it when things don't go my way. This is so exciting!" It was in this fickle, adrenal state that Jim flew out of the flat to God knows where while Sebastian sat, feeling extremely slow, still clutching the radio.

By the time Jim came home, there was only one thing on his mind. Sherlock Holmes, world's only consulting detective. Jim had infinite papers brought to the flat and spent long hours on his laptop, researching. Every once in a while, Jim would become animated and shout some nonsense like, "Oh my! He's a recovering drug addict! How spicy." or, "I'm not sure how I feel about this brother of his. He could be so interesting, but it's like he's _trying_ to be boring." None of it meant anything to Sebastian, and he couldn't wait until Jim finally got bored of the enigmatic detective.

After a week of one-track thought, Jim found something that actually seemed to surprise him. "Omigod, Sebbie. I've dealt with him before. Or at least, he's dealt with me. Good God, he was the anonymous brat that almost figured out Carl Powers. I've been looking for him for years! I am his number one fan!"

In this instant, though nothing seemed to have change for Jim, Sebastian knew Sherlock Holmes was different. Jim didn't talk much about his past and, Jesus H. Christ, Jim really liked to talk about himself. Sebastian figured child abuse. Possibly sexual assault. Almost definitely the death of a close relative. And now here was some gawky detective bringing Jim back to whatever hell-hole he had created the evil psychopath he became to escape. Holmes wasn't a throw-away prize or a fun distraction. He was Jim's soul enemy. His true arch nemesis. It was obvious that only one, or possibly neither, of them could make it out of this game alive. And one of the participants didn't even know he was playing yet.

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**Love all the fabulous readers out there. Read, Review, and maybe I'll turn this oneshot into an actual story.**


	2. Chapter 2

**As per request, here's chapter two. Enjoy!**

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Jim dragged himself into Sebastian's living room and slung his shoulder bag to the floor. He approached the couch from which the sniper was eyeing him warily, gestured through light pats that Sebastian should lay back on the sofa, and positioned himself so that he was lying between Sebastian's legs with his head just below the taller man's chest.

"Rough day, Jim?"

Jim arched his back for a moment to angle his face enough to see Sebastian's, even if it was upside-down. "You have no idea," he groaned.

"Well, actually-"

"I mean, do you have any idea what it's like to really have to work?"

"Yeah, that's -"

"And the other people! Can you imagine working with such incredibly ordinary people all the time?"

"You always make me -"

"No, I much prefer my cushy view from on high, thanks. Don't you agree, Sebbie?"

"I-sure. Totally agreed, boss," Sebastian conceded.

"And it's the most mundane tasks!" Jim was waving his arms in the air now. "It's always, 'My phone went out. My email isn't working. Fix it for me, Jim?' Fucking disgraceful!" Sebastian noted the way Jim's voice changed when he was mocking his new coworkers.

"From the way you're talking, I'd think all the employees in the hospital were annoying little girls."

Jim groaned again. "No, just one."

Sebastian's hand had dropped into Jim's hair and was scratching his scalp lightly. Jim was twiddling his thumbs with annoyance at the humdrum employment.

"I didn't think getting close to Holmes would be such an incredibly boring path. Saint Bart's is woefully normal," Jim lamented. "What about our other endeavors, Seb? What do we have in the works, as it were?"

If there was one thing Sebastian was grateful for, it was Jim's clientele. Without them, Jim would have nothing to think about but Holmes, and Sebastian was already concerned with the effort Jim had put into the consulting detective. "At the moment, we've got two standard robberies, one very impressive vandalism, two crimes of passion, four illicit substance rings, and one serial murderer." Jim had only arranged a few of their current endeavors, but his network could handle the others.

"A serial murderer? Is that the dying cabbie?"

"Yeah, that's the one."

"Mm, I wish he wasn't such an average person. Sherly's been taking an interest in him. Well really, his interest is in my work. Ugh, unrequited admiration is entirely unsatisfactory."

Sebastian almost asked about Jim's nemesis's apparent new nickname, but didn't want to bring up further conversation of the man.

"Tell me a story, Sebastian," Jim declared suddenly.

Sebastian hesitated. "What type of story?"

"I dunno, but make it a good one."

"Er, okay. So once there was this, ah, prince. And his name was Jim."

"Really? A fairy tale? Please, that is so entirely ridiculous. What a boring thing to say."

"I'm sorry, who's telling this story?" Jim gestured for the assassin to proceed. "So, as I was saying, there was this prince named Jim."

"I wanna be a king."

"What?"

"If you insist on telling creepy fairy tales, I get to be king."

"Okay, fine. You're a grumpy old twat of a king."

"Hey!" Jim snapped up and whipped around. "You are hurting my feelings and my pride. I don't appreciate that!"

Sebastian was about to supply a witty remark, possibly about the absurdity of being able to hurt a psychopath's feelings, when Jim's phone rang. Jim popped off the couch to answer it. Sebastian sat up. "Beegees?" he mouthed.

Jim flipped him off and held the phone to his ear. "Yes, what?" he demanded. His eyes glossed while he listened to the other line, occasionally mumbling little tokens of his attention. Finally he ordered, "Alright, keep watch and let me know of any future progressions," and hung up.

As soon as the phone was restored safely to his pocket, a manic grin took Jim's face and he let out a high-pitched chuckle. "Oh my god, Sherly just adopted an adorable little pet. It appears they're moving in together. How sweet! I imagine that this 'Dr. Watson' and I will get acquainted quite nicely. I have to go, Seb." Jim grabbed his shoulder bag and left for the hospital.

Sebastian stayed in his place.


	3. Chapter 3

**I have no excuse for this being a month late. You have my sincere apologies and love. Maybe I'll do an early update next time.**

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Sebastian got home late after an easy job. Jim was right where the sniper left him, his face illuminated by a laptop's glow.

"Please tell me you're not still refreshing the same page," Sebastian pleaded.

Jim looked up angrily for a moment and pressed F5 again. Ever since Sherlock Holmes had solved the case of the dying cabbie, Jim had been crazed about the detective's rather uninteresting website. In the short case summary that Holmes posted on _The Science of Deduction_, he inquired if anyone knew who his "fan" was and mentioned Moriarty by name.

"Jim, this is ridiculous. You're being obsessive."

"Yes, darling," Jim drawled patiently, eyes glued to the screen. "It is a hobby of mine."

"Well, could you stop for just a moment? Y'know, to eat or sleep or maybe even ask about the job that you ordered I go on a few hours ago."

"No, I don't think so."

Sebastian wasn't sure what drove him to drastic action. Maybe it was the never-ending deluge of information about a man neither of them had ever met. Maybe it was the time Jim called out that man's name in bed a few days ago. It may just have been the recent loss of attention from his employer.

But something made him walk over to the seated criminal and close his laptop.

Jim sprung up immediately, face contorted with rage. "What the fuck, Moran!?" he shouted, attempting to utilize the control that a last name could hold.

"This is sick!" Sebastian shouted back. "This is sick and bad and you need some fucking help!"

Jim stepped up even closer and pushed Sebastian with a fair deal of force. The sniper had to take a step back to steady himself. "You think I like this?"he cried desperately. "That I like being 'Jim from IT?' Flirting with that mouse of a woman because, like myself, she can't shut up about Sherlock fucking Holmes? Or maybe you think I enjoy the acting job I've had to take up! Fucking Jesus Christ, Sebastian, I may never even need the cover!" He stepped back, looking fairly small. "But what if I do? I only have one chance. Just. One."

The room was suddenly silent, and Sebastian regretted having done this to his boss. This shrunken, solemn Jim wasn't right. He reached out a hand to forgive and be forgiven, but Jim's head snapped up and Sebastian could still see the rage and hatred behind those eyes.

"Don't you dare fucking touch me, Sebastian."

And then it was Sebastian's turn to lose control.

"Don't touch you? Why the fuck would I want to touch you? Someone who disappears for days because he had a 'company retreat!' Someone who forgets to show up for an interrogation he planned, letting important information bleed out! Someone who can't keep his fucking boyfriend's name straight because he's thinking about some detective he doesn't even know – What would you call that, Jim? 'Cause I call it disgraceful. A fucking mess of a man!" Sebastian turned his back to the stunned and fuming man. "And I don't need a goddamn mess of an employer."

Later he'd think through this rant. He'd question the use of the word "boyfriend." He'd wonder if he was maybe a little too harsh on a broken man like Jim. And he'd worry about any punishment he'd have upon his return. Because he knew he couldn't stay away forever.

But right then, he just wanted to leave.

And, for the first time in their history of knowing each other, Jim was left alone, staring at the door after Sebastian.

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**Love you guys. Hope you enjoyed my trouble in paradise enough to R&R.**

**(And by "paradise" I of course mean a severely fucked up and psychopathic love story.)**

**See y'all later!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Happy reading!**

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Sebastian stayed away from Jim for a while. It was the longest time they had gone without being in contact since Sebastian was first employed. Even when he went on foreign assignments, the sniper periodically received calls from Moriarty asking him about the mission's progress and needy calls from Jim telling him he was missed.

As strange as it was to be away from Jim, Sebastian couldn't shake the feeling that he had done the right thing in leaving. If he hadn't been assassinated yet, Jim couldn't be too mad. Although it wouldn't stop Jim from finding him, Sebastian elected to stay in hotels during his hiatus. He felt too exposed in his flat.

Finally, the out-call-only phone in Seb's current hotel room started ringing. Patching through a cheap, unreachable phone was exactly the kind of stunt Jim would use to impress his sniper. He picked up the plastic device hesitantly, unsure of what to expect.

Though no greeting was issued, the voice on the other end spoke suddenly. "Moran, your skills are required." The sound was familiar, stern; a dangerous man allowing himself to sound dangerous. And yet, Sebastian wasn't sure he was ready to crawl back to master.

"You are still under my employ."

Sebastian stayed silent. For a moment, the line was quiet. Then Moriarty sighed. It sounded like a defeated deflation.

"Seb, please."

Sebastian struggled to keep his silence.

"I need you to come to the flat."

Sebastian swallowed his resolve. "That would be your place?"

Jim's voice had a note of relief. "Yes. My flat. I have a job for you."

"This isn't about –" Seb stopped. He wasn't sure how to phrase his disdain for Jim's most recent play thing without sounding stupid and petty. He wanted nothing to do with Sherlock fucking Holmes.

"No, no. It's not him. I'm done with him completely."

Alarm bells rang in Sebastian's mind. There was no way Jim was over this obsession. But Sebastian was finished trying to stay away. "I'll be there in twenty minutes."

"I've already sent you a car."

XxX

Sebastian stared out of the town car's tinted window. London flashed by, street after street. Sebastian liked to play a game by examining building placements and deciding the most efficient for reaching high death tallies.

While counting hypothetical deaths, the ex-colonel's instincts blared suddenly. The car was going the wrong direction. Seb lunged forward quickly, procuring a blade from his belt to the driver's throat.

"Hey, buddy. Take it easy," the cabbie croaked causally with the spirit of someone who had been held up more than once before. He motioned up to his ear. "You see? I'm being instructed by Mr. Moriarty."

Indeed, there was a flesh-colored earpiece with a wire curling to the man's collar. Sebastian didn't relax his blade.

"He's got a camera in here. He's saying, 'Sorry, Tiger. S'pose plans changed. Put away your toy.' Got it?"

Sebastian settled back and stowed the knife in its sheath.

XxX

The climb to the walk-up apartment wasn't awful. The instructions given by the driver said 12D, and Sebastian appreciated a flat on a high floor.

The door to the flat was locked, but a tacky, animal-print welcome mat made a less than subtle hiding place for a key. 12D was dark. Every light was off. There was, however, a white glow coming from the bedroom. Sebastian stalked toward the light warily.

Once he was at the door, the sniper saw the source of the illumination. There was a laptop open to an instant messaging program. It was resting on the edge of the king-sized bed and being glared at by Sebastian's employer.

Jim looked paler than usual. There was something about the way his crumpled suit hung on him that connoted a severe lack of food. His eyes were closed, but there were dark circles under them. He almost looked asleep, except for the twitches running through him. His fingers tapped tuneless patterns against themselves, his knees jerked, and his head lolled slightly.

"Jim?" Sebastian asked nervously.

Jim's eyes snapped open. The black hollows under them seemed even starker.

"Jesus. You look awful."

Jim scowled. "I haven't been sleeping," he bit.

"For how long?"

"I don't know. When was the last time I saw you?"

"A month."

"That long."

Sebastian hadn't realized the man's codependence. "Shit, Boss. What about food?"

"To stave off unconsciousness, yes."

Sebastian was suddenly angry. Angry at Jim for being such a fucking child. Angry at himself for leaving a child alone. Angry at Sherlock Holmes for making him leave.

"I'm taking you home now, Jim."

The sickly man scrambled to the edge of the bed, finding his footing with just enough time to save himself from the floor. He stood shakily. "No. We can't leave yet. I have –" He swooped and almost fell but held up a hand to keep his assassin away. He steadied himself and continued talking. "Gravity is most unpleasant. Anyway, I have a job for you."

Seb couldn't believe the psychopath. How could he leave Jim now?

"Don't worry," assured the mind reader. "The rifle is already set up in the other room. The client is in the adjacent building. We are terminating our contract."

Sebastian considered this. To concede would be to forgive. "Alright," he finally agreed. "Just tell me when."

Jim's arms were around him before he knew what was happening. Seb returned the grasp. He could feel every vertebrae on Jim's spine. He felt so terribly and wonderfully fragile.

Jim pulled away and flopped back onto the bed. He was on his stomach with his hands poised on the laptop's keyboard his his feet in the air like a teen girl talking to her crush. From his now-baggy suit pockets, Jim procured a set of ear buds. One of the transmitters went in his ear and the jack went into the computer. At the touch of a button, a Chinese woman appeared above a chat box. Sebastian guessed she had something to do with one of Jim's smuggling rings.

Jim turned his head to face Sebastian. "She's your target," he noted casually. "Don't shoot until I say so, Moran. Clear?"

"Sir."

"Off you go then."

Sebastian trekked to the other room and took up to scope set up there. His favorite gun was back at his flat, but this one would do; A simple L115A3 rifle with a laser sight and a suppressor.

The ex-colonel found his mark in seconds, but left the sight off, not wanting to give away the game.

"You have the go ahead," came an order from the bedroom.

Sebastian turned on the laser, took a second to center the dot (though it was very near the middle of the woman's forehead), and pulled the trigger.

He returned to the bedroom with a shell casing in his pocket. Jim was sitting on the bed, running his hands through his hair in a vague motion of excitement. His eyes were wide and staring at the black square on the screen.

"That was beautiful, Sebbie," he marveled. "I got to watch you decimate her face with one shot. It's a shame so much blood got on the camera. I would like to have seen the aftermath."

"Glad you enjoyed it." Sebastian was aiming for sarcastic but couldn't help his grin. It was the first time Jim had really seemed like himself.

The smaller man hopped off the bed, took one step, and started falling. Sebastian rushed forward and caught the sleep-deprived and malnourished man. Jim's eyes fluttered.

"Steady?" Sebastian asked.

Jim smiled weakly. He grabbed Sebastian's face and pulled him down for a chaste kiss.

"Boss?" Sebastian murmured against closed lips.

"Mm?"

"If you haven't eaten in days, why can I taste chocolate?"

"I –" Sebastian interrupted him by holding Jim at arm's length. He examined his boss carefully, taking in as many details as he could. The deep circles under Jim's eyes seemed to indicate a lack of sleep. But – Sebastian drew a finger across one. The black smudged off.

"Is this makeup?"

Jim's sheepish look of innocence held for another second then melted to an impish pride. "Your powers of observation are getting out of control, darling. Can't get anything by you." Any trace of a weak and fragile being had vanished. Jim procured a handkerchief and wiped the rest of the black marks away.

Sebastian felt his rage boil. "So what, you starved yourself, made yourself look sick, lied about not sleeping? Why? As some sort of apology? What made you think that would work?"

Jim looked at Sebastian like it was the stupidest question he'd ever heard. "I wanted you to stay."

Sebastian's mind went blank.

"I knew you were mad. I thought you might leave again if you thought I didn't need you."

"If you didn't need me I'd be dead."

Jim pondered this, "I guess that's true, actually. The whole 'can't live without you' thing isn't really for me. But I don't want to end our enterprise yet."

Sebastian examined his boss. With the makeup off, he looked decidedly healthier, but his weight was too low for the sniper's comfort. "You need to eat."

"Go get us takeaway then."

"You'll eat?"

"If you will."

"And then back to your place?"

"No, I thought we'd stay here tonight. Neutral ground." Jim paused. "And really, this is just a fantastic bed. Very sturdy, you know?"

Sebastian was calling the Chinese restaurant and out the door before Jim finished his sentence.

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**Love y'all. And I love Jim and Seb. And they love me. We're all gonna run away and have a fabulous gay wedding.**

**See you later!**


	5. Chapter 5

**New Chapter! And you didn't even have to wait a month!**

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Jim waltzed into his apartment feeling good about himself. Not a surprise. Vanity was rather a default of his. As soon as the door closed, he heard a shout.

"Jim! Get your fucking arse over here!"

Jim grinned. On top of his good day, Sebastian was apparently waiting for him. He nearly skipped to the bedroom, like a child to a Christmas tree.

Sebastian waited on the bed for his insufferable boss. When Jim flounced into the room, his wanting eyes went wide.

"Oh, Sebbie darling. You're perfect."

Sebastian would have punched him if his hands weren't chained to a surprisingly sturdy bedpost above him. "This isn't a present, you prick," he bit. Being left naked in his boss's flat did wonders for darkening his mood.

Jim was injured for a second before the light dawned in his eyes. "Oh my. Have you been like that all weekend?"

"Yes, I fucking have! I woke up two days ago with bloody handcuffs on!"

Jim wondered if the sniper was cursing or simply noting the red-stained state of the restraints. The blood was streaked down Sebastian's forearms.

"What the fucking hell were you thinking, Jim? This is not okay!"

The psychopath rummaged through his dresser, looking for the handcuff key. "I was occupied. I forgot you were here, I suppose. I have set the most beautiful plan in place. It just needed a bit of –" the key found its way to his hand " –finagling."

He walked to his seething employee's shackles and popped the lock. Sebastian brought down his bloodied wrists, being cautious not to rub them. Not the worst torture he'd ever been through, but certainly the first time he'd been left chained up after a night of Jim's power-playing.

"You know I didn't mean to leave you here, Tiger," Jim explained, sitting down on the bed. "And I'll even help you disinfect. But you should see what I have created. Ah, it's the most beautiful game I've ever played."

"Is it him?"

"Who, darling? Oh, you're probably starving. Why don't you make a reservation somewhere nice, my treat. Hmm, we could –"

"Jim, is it Holmes?"

Jim stared at the wounded man blankly. Sebastian could almost see cogs turning behind those dark eyes. "Yes," came the conclusion. "Yes, it's Sherlock Holmes."

Sebastian jumped off the bed onto unsteady legs. His anger held him up. "You said no more! I'm not catering to your fucking stupid obsession! You're a lying twat, and I'm not sticking around for the aftermath of some convoluted game!"

Jim's anger didn't flair. He didn't whip out some hidden gun and shoot the assassin. He didn't grab a phone and call in henchmen. He didn't demand that Sebastian leave his flat. He just considered this sentiment. "What aftermath?" he asked, much calmer than Sebastian had hoped.

"What?" Sebastian was so angry, he wasn't sure what he had said.

"You said you're not staying for the aftermath. What aftermath?"

Sebastian wasn't ready to let on that he knew why Jim couldn't leave Holmes alone. If Jim knew that Sebastian knew about the weakness created by a hellish childhood and the see-to-the-death determination that followed it, he may feel exposed, lost. He may hurt himself or kill his sniper. Sebastian couldn't let that happen.

"Just the way he's going to keep taking all your time, ruining this empire that's running so smoothly now. That's all I mean."

Jim suddenly looked amazed or possibly bewildered. Some sort of wide-eyed staring, at least. "No, Sebastian. Don't you get it? This is it. I didn't create such a beautiful game to have him live through it. I'm going to kill him. I'm going to make him lose, and then he'll die."

"And I'm just going to wait around while you try to topple a man?"

"Of course not! I'd be lost without my sniper."

Sebastian was actually flattered. This feeling made him aware that Jim had fucked him up pretty badly. But it was nice anyway. "So this is really the end of him?" Seb asked.

Jim smiled pleasantly. "This is the end."

And Sebastian was actually happy. He shouldn't have been. He should have still been mad and hurt and unforgiving. But Jim had that sort of effect.

"Let's get you cleaned up, eh?"

They went off to the bathroom – often used as an emergency room – together. Jim inspected Sebastian's wrists. They were chaffed, raw, and, in some places, skinless. He frowned like a child.

Sebastian almost laughed. "What is it?"

"I don't like this."

"What?"

"I hate damaging my toys."

"No you don't. And I'm not your toy, you bastard."

"Yes you are. But you're my favorite." There was a warm moment of silence. "Sebbie?"

"Hm?"

"Are you staying here tonight?"

Sebastian quirked an eyebrow. "Are you going to throw out the handcuffs."

"Yes?"

"You're not very convincing."

"That's because I'm lying."

"No cuffs, Jim."

"Mm. We'll see."

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**Aw, I love it when they make up. It's almost worth the fight. **

**See you in a bit.**


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